


Replaceable

by Bookwormgal



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Artificial Intelligence, At Least At This Point, Crossing The Line To Sentience, Fix-It, Friendship, Gen, Injury Recovery, No Romance, Non-Canonical Character Survival, Non-Human Viewpoint, Repairs, Robots, Rogue One Spoilers, Serious Injuries, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Star Wars: A New Hope Spoilers, Technobabble, Technology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 07:19:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9224675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookwormgal/pseuds/Bookwormgal
Summary: Not everyone was destroyed on Scarif. By some miracle, a few managed to survive the suicide mission. But not in one piece. Battered and broken, those who remained made it back to a semblance of safety.Of course, some are more easily fixed than others. And some are worth the effort more than others. Why waste time and resources on a lost cause?Besides, it is just a droid. They could just get a new one.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I went into “Star Wars: Rogue One” with the strong feeling that most/all of the characters would die in their attempt to steal the plans for the Death Star. It made sense to me that would be the most logical outcome. And do you know what? I was completely right. That didn’t make it any easier.
> 
> And since I’ve always had a soft spot for the droid characters since I was around four or five years old and watching “Star Wars: A New Hope” on a VHS tape with my dad, I instantly liked K-2SO. He has a very interesting and entertaining personality. The fact he’s voiced by the same actor who played Wash in “Firefly” probably helped as well.
> 
> So, let’s combine my desire to at least give some of the characters a chance to escape certain doom and my fondness for writing non-human characters. I can’t save everyone in his story. I can’t loophole my way around all the deaths. But at least some of them deserve to make it off that planet. Maybe barely and not in perfect condition, but still…
> 
> And just in case it isn’t obvious by this point, I do not own the “Star Wars” franchise. That includes the original trilogy, the prequel trilogy, the new trilogy that’s barely started, the spinoff films such as “Rogue One,” the various cartoon series (which I’ve only seen some), the countless books written by a variety of authors (which I’ve mostly not read beyond a handful), the ride at Disney World (which I’ve rode a few dozen times in my life), the comics (which I’ve not read), and assorted other forms of media and collectables. I would be a lot richer if I owned even a fraction of any of that.
> 
> So sit back, relax, and enjoy as I save a few protagonists from certain death by making two tiny changes.

His last coherent thought as he destroyed the control panel and his systems briefly surrendered to the damage from the shot to his chest and the energy backlash from his act of destruction pretty much summarized the entire situation rather effectively:

This day was turning out _exactly_ as badly as he predicted.

K-2SO went offline, losing all awareness and sense of time. Then he was forced back on, his systems working around the problems and blaster shots through his body. Thank the Maker for poor aim and built-in redundancies. Of course, since he was built as essentially a replaceable walking weapon by the same people who just tried to reduce him to scrap metal, he could only thank them so much.

**_Error. Primary Power Cell Severely Damaged. Power Levels At 17 Percent._ **

**_Error. Electromagnetic Field Sensors Offline._ **

**_Error. Infrared Sensors At 4 Percent._ **

**_Error. Auditory Sensors At 62 Percent._ **

**_Error. Photoreceptors At 79 Percent._ **

**_Error. Targeting Systems At 23 Percent._ **

**_Error.—_ **

He disregarded the rest of the stream of error messages from his diagnostics. He was quite aware his power was low, his senses were hampered, and his motor skills were now pathetic, thank you very much. The precise numbers did not help much beyond predicting how close to zero his chances of survival would be. The information did nothing to change his intended actions.

No wonder the organics did not like it when he told them the precise odds.

He heard the sounds of blasters as he pulled his broken body back online, several people firing behind him as the droid remained draped across the floor near the console. Only a few moments must have passed. His photoreceptors flicked back on, but he didn’t move yet.

Stormtroopers. How humiliating. Could it not have been at least Death Troopers? The black-armored forces could actually _aim_ and hit a target without depending on random chance. Still, considering how many Stormtroopers tried to attack down the twin hallways and how many he had already killed, he was bound to be overwhelmed eventually. They had numbers on their side. And now, by the sounds of it, they were attempting to blast their way through the sealed door to the data vault.

They were trying to stop Cassian and Jyn. K-2SO would not allow it.

Between twenty-three percent remaining for his automatic targeting system that all Enforcer models of the KX-series Imperial security drones possessed, four percent for his infrared sensors, and sixty-two percent for his auditory sensors, he could estimate the location of seven hostiles in the room without looking. They were all crowded around the door. He did not turn to look or climb to his feet as he reclaimed the loaned blaster with his right hand. He only had a seventeen percent chance of succeeding. Surprise only raised his chances to twenty-four percent. But he could not allow the Stormtroopers into the data vault. So while their focus was on the sealed door, he should act.

K-2SO provided strategic analysis. That was his role within the Alliance; mostly assisting Cassian on his missions, piloting when necessary, and rescuing a young woman from a labor camp on rare occasions. He was _not_ allowed a weapon. That was the agreement Cassian made in order to keep him, the man arguing and bargaining to protect the droid that originally tried to kill him before the rather substandard reprogramming. That was the deal Cassian made to prevent someone in the Alliance from decommissioning a potentially dangerous droid. Even now, many of them were afraid that he would revert to his original programming and purpose someday.

But Jyn gave him a blaster. No fear or hesitation. Only trust. She gave him a blaster. And he still remembered what he was built for.

In one swift motion that only worsened the damage to his body, K-2SO shoved himself up, spun around, and fired several shots. The first four blasts tore through their armor and those Stormtroopers hit the ground before they even realized he was back online. The last three shots also hit their targets, but not fast enough to prevent return fire. Even with his durable construction, the blasts burn through more of K-2SO’s circuitry and he was forced to catch himself as his legs gave out again.

**_Error. Motor Control For Left Leg Disabled._ **

**_Error. Motor Control For Right Leg Disabled._ **

**_Reestablishing Connection… 40 Percent Control Restored._ **

**_Error. Power Levels At 15 Percent._ **

Well, that certainly was not the best news he had received all day. And it would likely continue to grow worse. K-2SO could at least start pulling himself back upright, however unsteadily. But it also meant he was losing power faster than expected through all the damaged circuitry, servos, and wires. He could hear the occasional pop and fizzle of electricity sparking. His chances of getting out just dropped significantly. And they were not that high to begin with.

There was nothing more he could do. Jyn and Cassian would get the blueprints off the planet. The odds were not high, but both of them seemed to defy expectations improbably often and he had provided them all the assistance he could. He could not help them or the mission further. His remaining options were to stay in this room until he lost power completely or to try making it back to towards the stolen cargo ship. Neither choice significantly raised his likelihood of survival.

But waiting around for someone to finish him off sounded boring. Not to mention the Imperial forces would probably try to hack his memory banks for information on the Alliance if they found his offline body lying around. So it would be best to at least try escaping while he was still capable of the attempt.

Working past the damaged components as much as possible, K-2SO took an unsteady step towards one of the twin hallways. Navigating past the piles of dead bodies he had left there would not be fun, but he should be able to manage. He was still operational within limits. If Cassian survived as well, he would ensure the droid was repaired rather than replaced. This was not so bad. It was manageable.

He pulled up the map for the citadel tower that he had downloaded in his processor, trying to determine the most effective path back to the Landing Pad 9 that would bypass most of the remaining forces. While no hostiles remained alive in the room, there would be others. And due to the heightened state of alertness, his manufactured model would not be enough to protect him from detection this time. His body riddled with the damage of blaster fire was not exactly the low profile he needed. He would indeed be a “walking target” to anyone he encountered in the hall or on one of the overhead walkways.

A noise behind him was all the warning he received that at least one shot did not hit perfectly and one hostile remained. K-2SO tried to force his damaged body to turn. Two blasters fired at the same time and—

**_K9l?2W/zX_ **

**_Error. Error. Error. eRroR. Eerrrorr._ **

Both shots hit.

Target dead, shot in chest. No longer threat.

Damage already done. Shot in head. Not accurate hit, head still mostly intact. Online, but severely hampered. Processor and left photoreceptor damaged by shot.

Chance of survival?

**_!/2O?3B!_ **

Calculating odds inadvisable at present. Losing track of time, malfunctions.

Focus on goal, return to cargo ship.

Move down hallway. Keep hold on blaster. Brace against wall, balance.

Forward. Continue forward. Keep walking—

**_[PQv7w?A!_ **

Time skip in memory. Side effect of damage.

Empty space. Large room. Must locate transporter, rails leading to landing pad.

**_POWer leVELs At 12 PerCEnt._ **

Circuitry sparking and sizzling. Systems failing. Breaking. Broken. Losing con—

**_7Xi?/:3J_ **

Firing blaster. Hostiles. Time skip in memory. Disorienting and hindering to escape.

Aim suffering. Some shots miss targets. Hostiles return fire.

 ** _Er-err-error_**.

Further damage. Blasters shots destroying—

**_C!Sx/2?\L7_ **

**_PowER 1EVeLs A7 8 pERc3Nt._ **

**_PH0toR3CeptorS aT 10 P3rCenT._ **

Time skip in memory.

Slight vibrations. Transporter moving along rails. No hostiles. Alone.

**Audi7ORy s3NSors At 14 PeRC3nt.**

Blurry vision. Muffled hearing. Left arm unresponsive.

…Correction. Left arm missing.

Blaster in right hand. Not helpless yet.

Identifying and locating hostiles difficult with hampered sensors. Must not shoot ally forces when transporter stops. Cassian would disapprove.

Overhead, sounds of blasts. Ships firing? Getting clo—

**_E3x?/y!S2w-L7h319?E—_ **

**_Error._ **

**_Error._ **

**_Error. Error. Error._ **

Return online. Lying on ground. Sand. Outside. Transporter and rails gone. Destroyed. Time skip in memory.

Cause? Explosion.

New damage?

Lower body? Gone. Chest and internal components? Only half intact and heavily damaged. Right hand and weapon? Gone. Right arm? Damaged, gone below elbow joint.

**_PHotOR3cep7oR2 AT 4 p3Rc3Nt._ **

Walking not an option. Crawl across sand. Dragging broken body with remaining arm, only able to move at shoulder joint.

Sounds of distant combat and explosions. Move towards noise, towards stolen ship.

Unable to see destination. Vision weak. Memory only.

Processor damaged. Uncertain of current location relative to cargo ship. Memory unreliable guide. Success unlikely.

Crawling clumsily, pushing sand into inner workings. Unpleasant. Keep going.

**_P0w3R l3ve1s aT 3 PerC3NT._ **

Helpless. Weak. Broken. Failing.

Dying.

Less sand. Solid surface. Landing pad? Keep going.

Sound. Ship engine starting. Nearby.

 _Clang_. Metal-against-metal. Arm hitting metal, not sand or the landing pad. Ship ramp?

Pull body faster. Ramp moving, lifting closing. Must not be left behind.

Drag body further, onto ramp. Surface tilting, sending body rolling down, falling inside ship.

Crash into metal objects, irregularly shaped. Shrapnel? Broken pieces of equipment? Result of explosion? Uncertain.

**_PoW3r Lev3Ls at 2 peRcen7._ **

Movement beneath. Ship flying. Escaping?

No. Stopping somewhere. Ramp lowering.

“Get in! Now!”

Bodhi. Loud. Stressed. Pained. Above, piloting ship.

**_PhO7or3ce9torS ofFLin3._ **

**_AUdIT0rY R3C3ptORs At 4 pErC3Nt._ **

Staggering footsteps up ramp. One? Two? Uncertain.

“Go! Close it!”

Jyn. Pained, but less so. Scared. Tired. Winded. Carrying burden? Moving towards wall, sliding down.

Vibrations. Not just ship flying through atmosphere. Shockwave? Like Jedha?

**P0Wer 13V31s aT 1 p3RC3N7.**

Hyperdrive activated. Rattling. Ship damaged, but functional.

Labored breathing. Two. Jyn and unknown. Hurt, tired, unmoving. Alive.

Three surviving organics onboard. Bodhi. Jyn. Unknown.

Cassian? Unable to see. Unable to ask. Unable to move. All operations failing.

Broken. Damaged. Useless.

Not worth repairing. Replaceable.

“Bodhi?” called Jyn.

Unsteady person climbing to their feet, stagger across cargo hold, climb ladder to cockpit above. Slow movements. Injured. Tired. Adrenaline fading?

Quiet voice, worried, horrified. Scrambling sounds. Few distinct words audible. Failing auditory sensors to blame.

“Where… medkit? …burns… How…? …worse than…”

Pained cough. Unknown. Cannot identify.

Cassian?

Possible. Jyn survived. Could be Cassian.

Cassian may be alive. Uncertain.

Must know.

Cassian?           

Breathing pattern changed, barely audible even in confined space. Unknown unconscious.

Cassian?

Shutting down. Too damaged, power failing.

Cassian?

Ca—

**_?/2xK0=7?W…_ **

 

* * *

 

 

Jyn had resigned herself to dying, staggering towards the beach while bearing most of Cassian’s weight. She was limping, battered, and bruised. He was barely standing and clutching his lower right side, making her suspect a blaster wound or something similar. But a far greater issue was the bright light on the horizon. The Death Star fired on the planet and they couldn’t out-run the approaching destruction. But they passed on the blueprints, ensuring her father’s sacrifice would not be in vain. The weapon would be destroyed. That would be enough. She could accept her upcoming demise without too many regrets.

Her plans to stumble to the water’s edge and watch the approaching explosion were abruptly interrupted by a cargo ship dropping out of the sky in their path, the ramp lowering before it properly landed. Jyn almost froze in shock.

“Get in!” shouted Bodhi in a pained and desperate voice from within. “Now!”

He didn’t need to ask again. Half-carrying and half-dragging Cassian towards the ramp, Jyn quickly limped her way into the stolen cargo ship. The instant they stepped on the ramp, Jyn shouted over the engines.

“Go! Close it!”

The surface tilting underfoot managed to speed them along a little faster. She nearly tripped by the time they reached a wall she could brace against. As she tried to slow her raching heart, Jyn and Cassian slid to the floor.

The cargo hold was covered in scorch marks and broken metal, all the equipment and even the seating that normally folded into the wall now reduced to shrapnel and scrap. Jyn heard it rattling as the ship shook. It was Jedha all over again. She silently hoped with all her heart that Bodhi’s flying skills and the cargo ship’s engines would be enough to escape the blast. And that the Imperial forces orbiting the planet would be too distracted to notice one of their cargo ships limping away.

She stayed pressed against the wall and tried to keep balanced. Neither of them were strapped down and the cargo ship shook wildly through the air. They weren’t as fast as their previous ship. The blast must be catching up.

They could make it. She hoped with all her might. She wasn’t Chirrut, but she silently prayed as the rattling began to slow. She held her breath until she heard the hyperdrive kick in and the brief jolt of acceleration.

Jyn slumped back against the wall briefly in relief and Cassian gave her a tired look that was somewhere between a grin and a grimace. She couldn’t believe it. They did it. They actually did it. Somehow they managed to steal the plans for the Death Star, transmitted them to the rest of the Rebels, _and_ got off the planet alive. Everyone who volunteered knew it was a suicide mission. She’d known all of them would die on Scarif. Chirrut… Baze… K-2SO…

But she was alive. Cassian was alive. And Bodhi…

“Bodhi?” she called, but no response followed.

She pushed past her shock and forced herself back to her feet. She needed to check on him. She had to see if he was all right. These two people were all she had. Her father, Saw, everyone… They were gone. Jyn had to keep these last two people safe.

She stumbled over to the ladder. The lower rungs were bent enough that Jyn was concerned about climbing the thing and the dark liquid smeared on the metal made her throat tighten. But she had to go up.

With her first few steps, her muscles started screaming at her. The effects of the day could no longer be ignored. Her body ached, everything battered and bruised. But Jyn gritted her teeth and kept climbing until she pulled herself into the cockpit.

The smell hit her first. She’d noticed the smoky and chemical smell of an explosion down in the cargo hold. In the cockpit, the scent was overwhelmed by the smell of burnt meat and hair. Her stomach rebelled as Jyn cursed under her breath.

She wasn’t even certain how Bodhi managed to drag himself up the ladder and over to the pilot’s seat, though the smeared trail left behind proved he’d done so. He didn’t quite look human anymore. His body was bloody, burnt, and broken. His right leg caught her eye, a formless chunk of black-and-red meat with a piece of metal jammed into it. But somehow he was alive, semi-conscious through stubbornness alone, and flying the ship.

“Where do they keep the medkit?” she asked, searching the cockpit frantically. She kept talking, the words falling out of her mouth. “All those burns… How are you even piloting? You look worse than Cassian and I’m fairly certain a few of his ribs are broken.”

Finally spotting the medkit stashed in a corner, Jyn grabbed it and sat in the co-pilot seat. She wasn’t a doctor and most of her experience was at patching herself up rather than someone else. And Bodhi needed more help than a basic medkit could handle. But Saw taught her some basic first aid along with how to fight and even limited treatment was better than nothing.

“Didn’t… see anyone else. Almost didn’t see you,” said Bodhi quietly, his voice tense with pain. “Couldn’t save anyone else.”

“You saved me and Cassian. That’s more than anyone expected,” Jyn said as she pulled out her limited materials. “What happened?”

“Explosion in the cargo hold. Guess it was defective since… it wasn’t worse. I lived and the ship still flies.”

As he flinched as she tried wrapping some bacta-infused bandages around his leg without jostling the chunk of metal, she said, “If Chirrut was here, he’d say it was the will of the Force.”

They fell into silence. Jyn finished off what little doctoring she could manage. The medkit appeared to be one of the smallest available, meaning there really wasn’t much to work with. Who would have thought the Empire would be such cheapskates? The best she could hope for was that it would be enough to keep him alive until they reached Yavin 4. He still looked more like scorched and bloody meat than a person, though.

“Wake me up when we get close,” Bodhi mumbled finally. “Autopilot should be enough for now.”

Then he either dozed off or passed out. Jyn leaned back in the chair and sighed tiredly. She should head back down and see how Cassian was doing. He wasn’t hurt as badly as Bodhi and the cheap medkit didn’t have much left that would do anything for internal bleeding. But she needed to do _something_. She couldn’t lose them. She couldn’t be alone again.

She would climb back down in a moment. She just… needed to catch her breath. She’d take care of Cassian in just a moment…

“Unknown Imperial cargo ship, identify yourself _now_ or we’ll be forced to take action,” ordered the voice over the communication line, snapping her awake.

Scrambling briefly at the equipment, Jyn yelled, “ _Rogue One_. We’re _Rogue One_. Don’t shoot. We’re not part of the Empire.”

The line fell silent momentarily. She closed her eyes briefly in frustration, vaguely noticing they’d slowed down and the hyperdrive had grown silent. She wasn’t a pilot and she was new to the Alliance, at least outside of Saw’s particular corner of the rebellion. Jyn knew she must have completely messed up on the protocol. Hopefully it would still be enough to avoid being attack.

“W-who is this?” asked the voice on the Alliance frequency.

“Jyn Erso,” she said. “Captain Cassian Andor and Empire deserter, Bodhi Rook, are also on board and in need of immediate medical attention. We stole this ship. _Please_ don’t shoot us down.”

“Acknowledged,” said the voice after a slight hesitation. “Rogue One, you’re clear for landing.”

“Thanks,” she said before dropping the conversation. Turning towards the pilot’s seat, Jyn called, “Bodhi. _Bodhi_.”

She could see him breathing shallowly, but he didn’t stir at the sound of her voice. She couldn’t shake him awake. His skin looked like it was peeling and flaking off. She wished she could just let him rest a little longer, but she couldn’t land the ship herself and they couldn’t remain in orbit forever.

“ _Bodhi_ , wake up!”

He didn’t so much snap awake as fall into partial consciousness. His eyes opened slightly, he mumbled something about being the pilot, and he reached for the controls. The burnt skin on his hands cracked and bled with each movement. But he didn’t let that stop him from flying the ship. She had to admire determination like that.

Making sure that he had everything under control, Jyn limped her way back towards the ladder down. She instantly regretted the decision, her entire body sore. Her ankle felt like it was on fire. All the adrenaline that masked the pain before was gone. But she needed to check on Cassian.

A rattling jolt as the damaged ship hit atmosphere caught her at just the wrong moment, disrupting her balance and causing her to fall the rest of the way. Jyn’s back and elbows hit the metal floor hard, making her hiss in pain and bringing tears to her eyes. She couldn’t move for a moment. She just stayed there, listening to the broken fragments around her shake. Everything kept hurting and she couldn’t even complain because she was _alive_ when so many others were dead. She was just so tired.

As the noise of their continued approach towards the ground grew louder, Jyn reluctantly started pushing herself into a sitting position. Her hand bumped against rough metal as she turned towards Cassian. He was breathing. He was still alive and leaning against the wall even as the ship jostled beneath. Cassian had just passed out at some point. Beyond those basic facts, she couldn’t really tell how badly off he was. She wanted to reach him, but the rattling of the damaged ship coming in for a landing meant crawling would be her only option.

As she tried to move, her hand bumped against the chunk of metal on the floor again. This time, Jyn looked. Briefly, she thought it was a piece of the ship’s mechanical components broken and dislodged by the explosion. It certainly looked burnt enough and the metal was roughly melted in places. Then her brain caught up and recognized the general shape of what it used to be. Or rather, _who_.

The formerly tall and powerfully-built K-2SO barely looked like himself. Well, technically it could be the broken remnants of any Imperial security droid, but something told Jyn it really was him. Most of his body was gone, leaving only a small chunk of his upper torso, part of one arm, and his head. While he was always dark in color, everything was blackened further with soot and scorch marks. Most of his outer plating was gone, exposing the broken internal workings. What remained looked melted, showing where blasters burned and tore through him.

Jyn briefly touched the side of his head, the most recognizable piece left of him. Her hand brushed against where a shot burned a deep gash that damaged one of his sensors and exposed the scorched components inside. Everything about the droid looked broken, burnt, and barely recognizable. He resembled nothing more than scrap metal.

Kind of like how Bodhi looked like scorched meat rather than a person.

Jyn didn’t know how K-2SO managed to get onboard. They last heard from him as he faced an endless horde of Stormtroopers before urging the pair to climb and finish the mission, communication cutting off sharply. Even as Cassian called to him desperately, Jyn knew the droid was gone. So the fact he somehow made it back with only half an arm and about ten percent of his original body mass seemed impossible. Of course, she, Cassian, and Bodhi making it off Scarif alive also seemed like a miracle. Either they were all the luckiest beings in the galaxy or she was dreaming all of this while dying.

She didn’t realize the rattling of the descending ship stopped until the ramp started lowering. Security and medical personnel rushed onboard almost instantly, swarming towards her and the unconscious Cassian. Jyn waved them off from her.

“Not me. Help Bodhi,” she said. “The pilot. Help him and Cassian. I’m fine.”

One gave her a quick disbelieving look, but they hurried to deal with their more critically-injured patients. She zoned out their conversations and the exchange of medical jargon. Her brain couldn’t seem to focus on anything. Between the way she’d passed out and how her head felt fuzzy, she figured she was suffering from shock or something. But Bodhi and Cassian needed help more than she did. While everyone worked on stabilizing and moving her friends off the ship, she stayed on the cold metal floor with the broken remnant of a droid.

She didn’t have any family left and she hadn’t had any friends for a long time. But she knew how much loss hurt. Even when both her father and Saw were torn from her life years ago, witnessing their ultimate demises cut her deep. Having that brief hope from seeing them again made it hurt worse when they died. Jyn knew how much loss could leave painful wounds on the mind and heart, especially when she held so few dear.

And Cassian, who seemed to dedicate his entire life to the Rebellion and very little else, appeared to have almost no one. He was like her in a way. It could be hard to grow close to people when you know how easily that dangerous life could snatch them away. As far as Jyn could tell, the closest thing to a friend he appeared to possess was the snarky and blunt droid now resting beside her in fragments.

She’d seen how it hurt him when Cassian called desperately in the data vault and received no response. K-2SO was not merely a replaceable tool and stolen property of the Empire reprogrammed for a better purpose. He was a friend who’d fallen in the line of duty, just like so many others who joined her on that suicide mission. He was Cassian’s friend and, more recently, Jyn’s. An abrasive one, but a friend regardless.

“Miss? Miss?” a man in a security personnel uniform said gently, crouching in front of her. “The others are being cared for. Are you sure you wouldn’t like someone to escort you to receive medical attention?”

Shaking her head briefly to clear it, Jyn said, “No. I can go myself in a moment.” The fact she had no idea where on the base the medical facilities might be didn’t faze her. “Just… I need a favor.”

“What do you need?”

She glanced back towards the burnt, blackened, and broken figure beside her. Even still being the size of a decent backpack, the droid looked so small and fragile compared to how he once towered over all of them. He looked like spare parts for a speeder.

“Can… Is there any chance someone here can repair this droid? Without wiping his memory. He is, or _was_ , a KX series, an Imperial droid, but maybe…”

He frowned momentarily and said, “Uh… I’m not certain. We _do_ have parts. We run into enough of those things and scavenging materials from encounters with the Empire is practical. But I don’t know if there’s enough to really salvage. Our mechanics are good, but look at it. You’d be better off replacing it with a new droid. Maybe an astromech?”

He was speaking gently and his expression seemed kind and concerned for her. He acted like she was fragile and might break any moment. He probably thought she was focusing on the broken droid so she wouldn’t have to think about Cassian’s internal injuries, how Bodhi looked nearly burned beyond recognition, or how a ship packed full of volunteers returned nearly empty. And maybe she _was_ focusing on the one person she could still help. Maybe she _was_ wrung out and emotionally exhausted by the last few days. Maybe she _should_ have someone check her out for physical trauma already piled on top of the mental issues. But none of that changed the fact that she would never forgive herself if she didn’t at least _try_ to do something.

She couldn’t save Saw. She couldn’t save her father. She couldn’t save Chirrut, Baze, or the rest of the team. She couldn’t save the people of Jedha. She didn’t even save Cassian; the badly-burned Bodhi bringing the ship in at the last moment deserved credit for that. What would happen now to Cassian, Bodhi, and the stolen Death Star plans was out of hands. Jyn had to at least try to save this blunt, sarcastic, and annoying droid who couldn’t bluff his way past a couple of deathstick addicts.

“No,” said Jyn. “Just… See what can be done to fix him. I understand if it won’t work, but at least try.”

He nodded reluctantly and said, “Fine. I’ll ask someone to try salvaging its memory and programming. Now will you let a doctor examine you?”

“All right,’ said Jyn, allowing him to pull her to her feet. She bit back another hiss of pain as her ankle rebelled against the weight. Once she was certain she had her balance, she continued, “And whoever you ask to work on him, ask them not to… Don’t tell Cassian about this.”

“May I ask why Captain Andor should not be informed?” he asked as he guided her down the ramp.

Limping unsteadily, she said, “I wouldn’t want to get his hopes up until I know it’ll work. It would be easier on him that way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the two tiny changes I made for this story was that the final shot to the chest that took K-2SO down in the film was a little less accurate (allowing him to shoot the Stormtroopers in the back when they lowered their defense) and the explosive thrown at Bodhi was defective (delivering a weaker blast that he could survive and didn’t destroy the ship). I couldn’t bring myself to make any further or more extreme changes than those however. I wanted minimal alterations. So I couldn’t bring myself to devise a way to save Chirrut and Baze and get them back to the ship in time. Which is a shame because Chirrut was essentially an amazing blind space ninja and Baze had the coolest weapon in the whole movie…


	2. Chapter 2

Even with the task of providing medical aid to members of the Alliance stationed on Yavin 4, Doctor Bower often went for long stretches of time without treating anything more serious than minor cuts and common illnesses. Most of the time, pilots would either return unharmed or not at all. Those whose missions involved time on planets and so on would usually get emergency treatment before they made it back to the base, leaving him to handle the later exams and treatment after the worst had passed. It was rare to receive the critically-injured patients that medical teams in other Alliance bases would handle.

But it did happen on occasion. And when they received word of survivors from the attack on Scarif in need of emergency treatment, he knew this would be one of those times. The three patients brought into the operating room lived up to Bower's fears.

Yavin 4 wasn't exactly a Core Planet, hidden out in the Outer Rim and away from most places considered civilized. They had a limit on the more specialized and expensive equipment, which made the rarity of dangerous injuries a blessing. They had a single bacta tank on site, carefully and secretly shipped to the converted temple that served as a base. But because of how limited their resources were, he, his nurses, and a pair of medical droids were forced to pay especially close attention during triage and to treat the majority of injuries with more primitive methods.

The pilot was in the worst condition of the three, barely clinging to life. Bower honestly didn't know how the poor soul managed to stay conscious, let alone fly a ship back. Severe burns across most of his body and shrapnel buried in flesh suggested an explosion. His only chance of making it through the night was suspension in their single precious bacta tank the instant they removed the various fragments of metal and sand from his flesh.

Well, they put him in the bacta tank once they removed the ground-in sand, the embedded chunks of metal, and his right leg below the knee. A rather sharp piece of shrapnel had buried itself into this leg, tearing through muscle and cracking bone until it was formless meat. The only reason he didn't bleed out before was because the heat cauterized most of the damage and no one was dumb enough to try yanking the metal out before. The pilot could have easily died, so the loss of part of his right leg was a small price to pay. He would just need to spend plenty of time in the bacta tank and they would fit him for a prosthetic once the worst of his injuries healed.

The patient in the second worst condition was at least someone Bower recognized vaguely. Captain Cassian Andor's injuries were less visually impressive than the severe burns on the pilot, though still quite serious. He was suffering a concussion, broken ribs, a few cracked vertebras, internal bleeding, and a broken leg that he'd clearly been walking on. While not as serious as the man caught in an explosion, he would be spending time in the bacta tank whenever the pilot wasn't in it. Until then, Bower and his team used more primitive and invasive methods to treat him. It would seem that Captain Andor would depend on time to heal most of his wounds.

The third patient turned out to be in relatively good health in comparison. The young woman hobbled in after the others were already being treated, looking unsteady and a little grey in complexion. Her ankle was broken (and she'd also been walking on it) and her hip was badly bruised, which accounted for her limping. Beyond that, there was some serious bruising across her body and she was in at least mild shock. Other than getting the sand out of wounds and bandaging the burns from where blaster shots grazed her, most of her treatment involved setting her ankle and keeping an eye on her. The young woman, admitting that her name was Jyn after a little prying, waited quietly for the others to be stabilized. She sat on the edge of the recovery bed with a blanket around her, only asking if the others would be all right.

Technically, Bower knew he could discharge Jyn not long after they set her ankle and the worst of the shock passed. They would have to order her to take it easy and to rest, but her injuries weren't life-threatening. During busier times, he would have sent her to the barracks with a bowl of bacta to soak her ankle in. But there was plenty of room in the recovery ward and she seemed calmer when she could keep an eye on the others. So they settled her into a bed close to the bacta tank and across from where Captain Andor slept, sensors monitoring his condition carefully.

Bower took a final round through the recovery ward. Everything had quieted down in the hours since. The lights were dimmed in order to encourage the patients to rest and recover. Captain Andor didn't need the encouragement, sleeping through the quiet sounds of the various monitors. Sedation could work wonders for a man's sleep schedule. And the pilot was also sedated as he floated in the bacta tank. Jyn, however, remained awake as she spoke to General Draven.

He knew this could not end well. Draven probably wanted some form of debriefing after the unsanctioned mission and she was the only one in any condition to answer his questions, even if she wasn't officially in his chain of command. It would have been better to have Senator Mon Mothma speak to her or just about anyone with a little empathy. Draven did not have the people skills to deal with those who weren't under his command. And even hurt and clearly worried about her companions, Bower could see a sharpness in Jyn that the general would likely be cut by shortly.

As Bower prepared himself to march over there and remind the general that his patients needed their rest, he saw Jyn's head snap around. She stared at General Draven with a look of frustration and disbelief. Her hands flexed a few times, curling into fists by her sides and her gaze seemed darker than before.

"Please tell me you're not serious," she said, her voice sharp and tense. "How…? After everything that happened, after everyone who died… You lost the plans for the Death Star?"

He muttered something for a few moments that Bower couldn't hear, but it was clearly the wrong thing to say. Her eyes seemed to burn as her mouth tightened. She stared up at the taller man standing in front of her.

Then she moved like lightning. She snapped to her feet, setting Bower's thoughts churning about the damage she was doing to her ankle again, as she threw her entire weight into a punch directly into Draven's gut. The breath was knocked out of his body as the man collapsed to the floor in stunned pain.

Good. She didn't go for the face. Bower didn't want to fix broken fingers.

"Next time you mention my father," Jyn said in her dangerous voice, "I suggest you don't do it in front of me. He sacrificed more than you can imagine to give us a chance, even if we failed to bring the plans back and take advantage of that chance. And while you probably had something to do with the support we got above Scarif, don't think for a moment I don't know that you're _also_ the one who ordered his murder. It was Alliance that killed him. Not the Empire. I haven't quite forgiven you for that."

As Draven started getting over the hit, Bower hurried to insert himself into the conversation.

"I told you to stay off your feet for the immediate future," he scolded gently before forcing her back onto the bed. "And General Draven? While your rank may hold sway over the rest of the base, I'm in charge in here. I know that these people are heroes who _deserve_ our _respect_ and I'm certain that you want to thank them for their valor, but I'm afraid all of them need their rest. So I am going to have to ask you to leave and let them recover in peace. Do I make myself clear?"

He looked like he wanted to say something. Whether the comment would be directed towards the young woman who knocked him off his feet with a punch or the doctor essentially kicking him out of the recovery ward, it didn't matter. Bower met his gaze with a stern look that left no room for misunderstanding or argument. Draven at least recognized the most important lesson in life.

Never anger the doctor.

With as much dignity as possible, the general climbed to his feet and marched his way out of the room. Bower stared after a moment before turning back towards his patient.

"I was not joking about you needing rest. Try to get some sleep. I would prefer not to sedate you unless it becomes necessary."

Jyn glanced briefly across the room at Captain Andor and then towards the bacta tank. Then she nodded slightly and leaned back until she was lying comfortably on the bed. Hopefully nightmares would not plague her too much. Bower was serious when he said he would prefer not to sedate her.

Maybe she would focus on those who were saved rather than those who were lost.

* * *

_**Initiating Data Transfer…** _

…

…

…

_**Error. Transfer Failed. Data Corrupted.** _

…

_**Initiating Data Transfer…** _

…

…

…

…

…

_**Error. Transfer Failed. Data Corrupted.** _

…

_**Initiating Data Transfer…** _

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

… _ **3r/j=K7m**_

_**X8v!Mv?4** _

_**]G[Lw!/=1** _

_**cAZ2!an!** _

_**J?9[k]7yCd4…** _

…

…

…

…

…

_**Data Download Complete.** _

_**Error. Data Corrupted.** _

_**Unable To Read Files.** _

* * *

The people who worked in droid parts and repair, no matter where in the galaxy they might be, tended to come in two distinct varieties. Tetch was one of the more practically ones. He catalogued the various parts and components dragged to the base, repaired damaged droids, and performed memory wipes with the exact same detached mindset. He didn't get attached or personify the droids. He was smart enough to remember they were not really people. They were machines and tools. Any illusions of droids being anything more was the result of clever programming.

But some people weren't as sensible as him. Some mechanics, a few pilots, and a handful of other people grew attached to the quirks and glitches that droids could develop in their programming over time, giving the illusion of a personality. It wasn't a wide-spread or common belief, but it did pop up every now and then. They performed fewer memory wipes and even grew upset when their droids needed to be replaced. Some would even kick up a fuss and practically beg for the materials to repair a droid that wasn't worth the effort.

And that's what led to him and his apprentice dragging out every piece of scavenged equipment they'd stolen from the Empire, trying to see how many half-destroyed KX-series security droids they'd stuffed into storage. Most of them were cannibalized for wires, processors, and general materials already. But because a couple of survivors from Scarif wanted their burnt-out and demolished droid fixed, Tetch was left trying to collect enough parts to put together one whole unit.

Rebuilding a physical frame from various broken and fragmented droids was the easy part. It was annoying, but his apprentice helped speed up the process and made things go smoother.

The trickier part was recovering any information from the droid's processor. He'd pulled data from destroyed and captured Imperial droids before, but it tended to be incomplete files and an unreliable process. This time, the gray-haired man was supposed to recover all the programming and memory files on a severely-damaged processor. You can't expect miracles when the thing suffered a headshot. Tetch couldn't believe it actually worked in the end. It took multiple attempts to download the stored information into the intact system, everything fragmented and corrupted.

But even if they managed to salvage the droid's data through skill and luck, what Tetch ended up was a jumble mess. It would take time to untangle and repair the corrupted code enough to see if it would be able to operate. Without the right programming to interact with the systems, the processor wouldn't be able to receive input or send commands to the physical body. Until Tetch fixed the coding, the droid was nothing more than a pile of useless metal taking up space.

Honestly, it would be easier and faster to just get them a new droid. But the sentimental and irrational people wanted a specific droid. Who was he to argue about the waste of resources?

Recent events, however, meant they'd literally shoved the tall droid into a corner of the room to make space. With the upcoming attack on the Death Star, something about relocating the plans and a weak spot, all the starfighters were being readied and the room was filled with astromechs being prepared for the mission. Astromechs operating to their full capacity could mean the difference between life and death for the pilots. That was far more important than a side project. Even if it _was_ a side project he'd invested a lot of time and energy in already.

Grabbing a couple more tools, Tetch nearly tripped over the hunk of metal on the way back to his current astromech. He quietly cursed before kicking the long leg out of the way. His actions did little more than stub his toe and cause the tall shape to fall the side like someone who passed out after one too many drinks.

"Hey, take it easy there, boss," chirped his apprentice. "He's already had a rough enough time. We just finished putting him back together."

"It's not even online, Rissi," he called back to the young woman. "It didn't even notice."

The young woman with shortly-cropped auburn hair honestly seemed too young to be in this deep with the Rebellion and certainly too young to be his apprentice. But Rissi was a talented mechanic and her only family was her brother, who worked a floor down in the hanger. So Tetch took on the barely grown girl and taught her everything he knew, keeping an eye on her and letting her natural knack for repairs and maintenance help the Alliance. She certainly pulled her own weight. His only complaint was that her nearly mystical skill with droids was tempered by her emotional connections to the ones she worked on. While Tetch was the practical and sensible type, she was delusional type who saw them as people.

She would grow out of it eventually. Assuming she lived long enough. With the Empire and their Death Star, there were no guarantees.

"Doesn't mean you should kick him," muttered Rissi, up to her elbows in a particularly twitchy astromech's internal components. "We worked too hard to put him back together. Remember how long it took to pull anything off his processor?"

He did. He remembered the soft-hearted young woman's expression when they dragged in the burnt, broken, and barely-recognizable husk of a droid from that ship. She pitied the thing. She kept talking as she helped cobble together a functioning body. And when Tetch kept failing to download anything from the damaged systems, she'd leaned over this shoulder and tried coaxing the corrupted code into cooperating.

Rissi telling the droid that it had several friends who wanted it fixed should have been amusing if it wasn't for the fact that the download chose that moment to finally go through. She'd been quite smug afterwards. He called it luck.

"It's fine," he reminded. "Didn't even leave a dent. And you can worry about the lost cause later. We don't have much time. The pilots will be taking off soon and these astromechs need to be ready."

* * *

Every time he woke up in the recovery ward, Cassian didn't quite believe it. He should be dead. He fully expected to die on Scarif. While most of his missions held the possibility of dying, this time had no chance of survival. He'd known everyone on that stolen cargo ship would die for the cause, die to retrieve those plans and give the Alliance a fighting chance. He'd accepted his demise. And yet it didn't happen. He survived.

But that didn't bring him any relief. It left him unsettled, off-balance, and untethered. And guilt-stricken. He didn't even know he could still feel guilt after all that he'd done. Or at least, guilt that he couldn't ignore or push aside since it was for the greater good. But Cassian could recognize survivor's guilt as it plagued his mind.

He felt guilty about everyone who died on that planet, though every single member volunteered for the suicide mission. Even Baze and Chirrut chose to come along. They weren't part of the Rebellion and they had no obligations to lay down their lives for the cause. But they made that choice because they believed it was worth it to stop the Death Star. Cassian couldn't disrespect their memory by claiming he forced them. It was their decision.

Well, everyone had the freedom to choose to come on that suicide mission except one. He ordered K-2SO to help him and Jyn on that mission. And even if the droid occasionally disobeyed direct orders, Cassian knew he would come. K-2SO's loyalty to him was unquestionable.

He'd ordered his friend to his death and didn't even have the decency to die as well.

In his line of work, it didn't pay to grow attached to people. Gathering information or simply being part of the Alliance ran the risk of death every day. He'd seen plenty of good men die for the cause. He knew he would likely die for the cause. He didn't have friends or family anymore and it was easier to be alone. But no one could remain completely isolated.

Cassian didn't know initially why he kept the Imperial droid after that first mission. He might have claimed it was practical, keeping someone who could blend in with enemy forces and serve as a copilot. He figured it out later. K-2SO would always be honest with him, unlike everyone else in his life. He could be depended on, regardless of the circumstances. He was loyal far beyond what Cassian's meager programming skills could account for (droid reprogramming having very little to do with the hacking mainframes and security systems he was used to). And K-2SO was sturdy and tough enough that Cassian always thought he would survive. And if he was damaged, he could be repaired. Cassian always figured the droid would outlive him.

But the one person in his life he was certain he would never lose was shot down by Stormtroopers and then vaporized when the Empire fired on Scarif. Some people might scoff at him being attached to a droid, to consider him a friend. But that's what K-2SO was at the end. And though he'd thought he was beyond letting loss hurt him, it left him miserable to know that the droid was gone.

Shaking his head gently to avoid agitating it, Cassian tried to turn his thought in a more positive direction. Dwelling on what was lost while he remained trapped in the recovery ward didn't do him any good. Focusing on what they'd preserved seemed more productive.

He was alive and healing. Jyn was alive and safe, her bruises healing more slowly without the aid of regular immersions in the bacta tank. Bodhi was even alive. Granted, the healing pink sections of newly-regrown skin and the lack of hair made it clear he'd been burned to a crisp not too long ago. And they had already measured him for a prosthetic, though it would take time to get one for him. Still, he was alive against all odds. The most recent gossip also proved that even if it took time, the plans had made it to the base. And as an unexpected bonus, the Empire destroyed all those secure files they stored on Scarif. That would set them back once the Death Star was gone.

They had a chance. The cause? The Alliance? There was a chance now.

A siren wailed out, making Cassian sit up sharply and Jyn leapt out of her bed with the clear intention to fight. His body ached from the abrupt movement and he could see her grimace of pain when she put weight on her foot that it could barely support, an act the doctor ordered her not to do. Bodhi didn't react to the noise, floating unconsciously in the bacta tank for another session. The rest of the base went on high alert.

He didn't have a clue what was happening and his healing ribs and leg wouldn't allow him to seek out the answers. He could only grit his teeth and stare at the doorway anxiously. He watched everyone scurry past in a panic for a few minutes until Dr. Bower ran in with a few of his medical personnel.

" _Back_ on the _bed_ ," he ordered, making Jyn sit abruptly. "Your ankle hasn't healed that fast and I won't have you undoing all our hard work." Bower then turned towards the others brought in. "We don't have time or the transport on hand to evacuate our patients. But if that changes, we might need to move them in a hurry. Or we all die before we can do anything. Depends on how this goes. Either way, let's get him out of the bacta tank."

As they hurried to start the draining process, Jyn asked, "What's happening? Why would we need to evacuate?"

"The Death Star," said Bower distractedly. "They were talking about it all over the base. They're sending star fighters to intercept."

Cassian and Jyn glanced at each other. Once again, death hung overhead. They escaped Jedha. They escaped Scarif. But they couldn't run this time. They couldn't fight. All they could do was wait and hope.

The Alliance had the plans. With any luck, they found the flaw and would destroy the Death Star. They had to have hope. It was all they had.

Rebellions were built on hope.

Just as they pulled the semi-conscious Bodhi from the tank, all the alarms cut off. The abrupt silence seemed more deafening than the noise from before. A few moments later and the cheering started. The sound echoed down the halls and reached the recovery ward. The words made Cassian laugh and brought a smile to Jyn's face even as tears fell. The words were beautiful.

"They did it. They blew it up."

The words were repeated and shouted. They filled the base and seemed to come from everyone in the Rebellion. The words were the sounds of victory and hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we covered most of the time frame of "Star Wars: A New Hope" over the course of this chapter. The next chapter should have an appearance by a couple of familiar characters from the original film. I look forward to having them.
> 
> And I'm sorry about poor Bodhi. But it really isn't "Star Wars" until someone loses a limb. So he gets to lose a leg. Still, he's alive. That's still an improvement on his fate in the movie.


	3. Chapter 3

Coming back online after serious damage was never fun. It wasn't an unfamiliar experience though. After decades of operation and participating in more battles than most people could guess, getting damaged was a near certainty. He'd lost a few useful components over the years, but he'd mostly stayed in repairable condition. And between Padme, Anakin, Bail, and now Luke, he knew he would always be repaired. He'd always been in the care of kind-hearted people. He'd never needed to worry about what would happen if he was broken. If there was anything left to work with, he knew he would be fixed.

So he wasn't surprised to find himself coming online, his last recorded memories from the Starfighter attacking the Death Star and his diagnostics currently reporting a lot of repaired and replaced parts. And he definitely wasn't surprised when the first stimuli his sensors detected upon coming online was a worried and fussy voice speaking frantically.

"Are you quite certain he will be all right now? He still isn't responding. I knew this would happen. Is it his programming? His memory? He can't be gone. Please, there must be something you can try. What can I do to help?"

"Calm down," soothed a female voice. "I just activated him. Give your friend a moment before we start worrying. It might take his systems a little bit to recalibrate themselves."

"He has to be all right. After being dragged across the galaxy and back again, it cannot end for us like this."

At that point, he regained visual input. He saw a young human woman he recognized from the rebel base on Yavin 4, someone he was relatively certain worked in droid repair. Her presence completely made sense. She crouched in front of him, peering at him carefully. And a short distance behind her stood a familiar gold-plated droid, twitching anxiously in place.

Poor C-3PO never could handle stress very well. And he tended to worry.

As his lights came on along with the rest of his systems, the pair noticed he was online properly. She smiled brightly down at him while the protocol droid hurried over.

" _I assume the Death Star was successfully destroyed, so should I bother asking what happened?_ " he chirped in Binary.

"What _happened_ is that you were shot in battle and are lucky to be in one piece, Artoo," said C-3PO, relief replacing worry and desperation. "You were nearly blown to scrap metal and all because no one around here can stop heading straight into danger without any hesitation."

"Hey, little guy," interrupted the young woman before the protocol droid could really get some momentum going. "You're R2-D2, right? My name's Rissi. You've had a rough time lately. I heard you brought the Death Star plans here. Those plans caused a lot of pain along the way, but they also saved a lot of people. But I think I've got you all fixed up now. That should make your friend feel better. He's been following me around and panicking over you."

"I was _not_ panicking," C-3PO said, sounding indignant even if his words weren't believable. "I simply didn't want to deal with a different astromech. I've grown accustomed to his eccentricities and know how to work with him."

" _Who do you think you're fooling? You'd miss me if I was gone. Not to mention you need someone to watch out for you._ "

R2-D2's chirps shifted to his form of a chuckle as C-3PO sputtered in response. Neither droid could use facial expressions and there was a limit to their body language, but that didn't hide any of his indignant reaction at being called out. He was always so easy to wind up like that.

" _But_ ," R2-D2 admitted, his beeps growing quieter and longer, " _I would also miss you if you were gone instead, Threepio._ "

He meant it. He'd liked the protocol droid ever since he met C-3PO on Tatooine, the taller droid newly activated and incomplete. He'd noticed quickly that while C-3PO could handle civilized interactions and maneuverings, he was less adept at the more dangerous adventures. A protocol droid was not made or programmed for combat situations. So R2-D2 did his best to watch out for his companion over the decades, no matter where they found themselves. He tried to protect his friend however he could.

"Well, neither of us are gone. Against all odds, we managed to make it through this troublesome situation," said C-3PO finally. "Master Luke and the others survived as well, just in case you're curious."

"I'll give you two a few moments," Rissi said, straightening up. Taking a moment to pat R2-D2 on top and C-3PO on the shoulder, she continued, "I need to check on a few things and let your friends know the good news."

C-3PO smacked his smaller companion lightly, producing a small _clang_ , before saying, "Don't be rude, Artoo. Thank her for fixing you. You really are a lot of trouble sometimes."

Just like he had thousands of times before, R2-D2 regretted the fact he lacked the capacity to roll his eyes at his companion. Mostly because he lacked eyes. But C-3PO was right.

" _Thank you, Rissi_."

"I'm glad I could help you," she said with a smile. "You were pretty banged up and some of your components needed replacing, but it wasn't close to the most difficult repair I've dealt with recently. That title belongs to the poor fellow they dragged in earlier, in pieces and burnt to a crisp. He still isn't working right. But I hope we'll get his processor straightened out eventually. I like for all the droids they bring in to be all right." She shook her head briefly. "Anyway, I'll be back later and see if I can shine the two of you up a little."

As she stepped out of the room, R2-D2 started turning to look around the place. He and C-3PO didn't spend too much time exploring the Yavin 4 base, Bail having to keep his visits short and infrequent due to his high-profile nature, so he'd never needed to visit their droid maintenance. Currently there were no other engineers. He could see a wide selection of tools and robotics scattered throughout. The space was not originally intended for this purpose, so the room felt cluttered.

R2-D2 carefully took note of this as C-3PO continued to talk. He listened to his companion's words, but mostly relegated it as background noise. Rambling and scolding like that was how C-3PO processed all his anxiety, worry, and concern that R2-D2's near destruction caused him. Letting him fuss and complain over the smaller droid would help sooth his frazzled circuits.

He expected to see another astromech somewhere in the room based on Rissi's parting remarks. They were the most common droids on the base due to the number of pilots. Or at least, there _used_ to be a lot of pilots. But he didn't see the familiar dome shape. What R2-D2 _did_ spot was a large humanoid metal figure sprawled on the floor, shoved into the corner as if to be forgotten.

While C-3PO would probably have a long and comprehensive list of faults for him, R2-D2 would only admit to being too curious for his own good. So when he realized that there appeared to be an Imperial security droid in the room, he couldn't help wondering _why_. Did someone bring it back to collect information from the processor? Or perhaps its presence had a different explanation. R2-D2 wanted to know. And he clearly had time, so he saw no reason why he shouldn't satisfy his curiosity.

Besides, Rissi mentioned that she wanted the droid's processor straightened out. And after decades of hacking and accessing data from a variety of sources, R2-D2 considered himself an expert. By this point, he could program better than most organic beings. Perhaps he could assist Rissi and solve his miniature mystery at the same time.

"What… Where do you think you're going?" asked C-3PO as the smaller droid started rolling past him.

" _Over here_ ," he whistled innocently.

"Well, I can see that much. And I don't appreciate that attitude at all. What are you up to?"

" _Helping_."

Whatever C-3PO intended to say in response to that all-too-innocent remark was lost as the protocol droid startled and stepped back a little. His limited body language and R2-D2's experience made it clear C-3PO was both surprised and afraid. He'd apparently just spotted the inactive Imperial security droid in the corner. He must have truly been distracted by the smaller droid's state when they brought him in if he didn't see the other droid before.

"Oh dear," said C-3PO nervously. "What's that doing here?"

" _I don't know. But I intend to find out_ ," R2-D2 chirped, moving around to the back of the crumpled droid's head.

"Artoo, you better not be planning to do what I think you are planning," scolded C-3PO. "You have no idea where that processor has been. You should know better than to go poking around strange systems."

" _You always worry too much_."

Due to a lot experience with a variety of different droids, R2-D2 knew this particular model had a data port under a panel on the back of their heads. It didn't take more than a moment to gain access and start examining the data.

And he instantly realized why the Imperial droid was deactivated. The processor was a mess of tangled, corrupted, or nearly unreadable data. Someone managed to dump all the programming and memory into the systems, but damaged and not in a usable format. But R2-D2 knew how to deal with vast amounts of data and far faster than any organic programmer.

Before C-3PO even had enough time to truly start complaining about R2-D2 impulsiveness, he managed to untangle just enough for hints of the artificial intelligence to start resurfacing. R2-D2 didn't expect much.

While Class Two droids, like astromechs, were programmed for creativity and problem-solving and Class Three droids, like protocol droids, were programmed specifically for regular dealings with organics, this was a Class Four droid. Class Four droids were created for combat in one form or another, not for adapting and growing beyond basic protocols. Many were more effective than the battle droids from the Clone War, but no one wanted walking weapons to start getting ideas. R2-D2 knew while he and C-3PO were complex enough to develop personalities, he didn't expect to find much beyond a very basic artificial intelligence. Especially in an Imperial droid, which tended to have their memory wiped frequently and regularly.

He kept it simple as he addressed the recovering fragments of the artificial intelligence. R2-D2 continued to fix the mess of data even as he started the rudimentary conversation.

" _ **Identify**_."

" _ **KX-series Enforcer model security droid K-2SO**_."

The response, a short data burst, was automatic. Even the most basic artificial intelligence could handle it. But it served as a decent baseline question.

" _ **Location of manufacture?**_ "

" _ **Arakyd Industries on Vulpter**_."

More of the processor was straightened out and the corrupted data repaired. The artificial intelligence of the droid began to stir, giving the impression of what would be considered drowsiness in organics. R2-D2 felt confident trying more complicated questions. He wouldn't satisfy his curiosity with these rudimentary questions.

" _ **Allegiance?**_ "

This time, the reaction wasn't instantaneous or automatic. Something reacted within the disorganized processor, some of the repaired strings of code snapping together. Multiple responses came across the connection.

" _ **[Galactic Empire] [The Alliance to Restore the Republic] [Captain Cassian Andor]**_ "

One of the advantages of communicating in neat little data packets rather than verbally was that it could provide far more information. The first data packet was old and outdated, something that had been buried. The second was more recent and detailed. R2-D2 received a list of personnel, mostly those in command or in Intelligence. There were also a variety of statistics demonstrating success rates, survival rates, and kill ratios among other calculations. But he also noticed that it did not actually hold any true influence on the droid's actions, the so-called allegiance to the Rebels mostly serving to counteract the programming to serve the Empire. Someone with rather weak programming skills tried to overwrite old programming, but only ended up with something contradictory. The two canceled each other out and left no influence on the security droid overall. There was no true loyalty to either cause on a programming level.

The data packet on Captain Cassian Andor was far more interesting and detailed. Images, sound clips, recorded past behavior serving to predict actions, and numerous statistics on every aspect of the man was contained in the very large data packet. The droid's allegiance may be technically programmed for both the Empire and the Rebellion, but K-2SO placed this one human as the person he obeyed. Cassian held his loyalty. But there was something beyond that. Most programmers and other droids wouldn't recognize it, but R2-D2 knew what wove through the programming he was repairing.

How unexpected. It certainly went against all statistical probability. K-2SO actually and authentically cared about this Cassian person. The droid considered him a friend. It would seem the security droid managed to develop a personality after all.

R2-D2 managed to fix another string of code, connecting more of the programming together. And the sluggish systems from the inactive droid began to react less mechanically.

" _ **Cassian?**_ " Then it became aggressive and defensive, most of the artificial intelligence snapping back into place. " _ **Who are you? What are you doing in my systems? If you even think of trying to access something classified, you shall be greatly disappointed.**_ "

Confusion. Anger. Fear. True reactions from a fully-developed personality. It took years of acquiring quirks and oddities to their programming to truly move beyond the factory-standard reactions to stimuli. Especially for a droid never designed for much individual thought.

" _ **Calm down. Your programming is still partially corrupted. I couldn't hack all your files until that's dealt with, even if that was my intentions.**_ "

" _ **I suppose I should ask what your intentions are then. Though if you plan anything unpleasant for me, you probably wouldn't tell me the truth anyway. Of course, I am not certain I should be operating at any capacity anymore, so I suppose this could still be considered an improvement over being melted down and replaced. But I still wish to know who is in my processor.**_ "

" _ **I am [R2-D2].**_ " He sent the security droid a data packet with all the relevant identifying information, including the fact he was involved with the Rebellion. " _ **I am trying to fix the rest of your programming back to how it is supposed to be while my companion complains it is dangerous to help an unknown Imperial droid."**_

" _ **A reprogrammed Imperial droid.**_ "

" _ **Badly reprogrammed**_."

The more R2-D2 straightened out and fixed the corrupted data, the more obvious it became that an amateur fiddled around with the programming a while back. The original programming was all still there, but it was buried beneath the new additions. The work was sloppy, wasteful, and clumsy. The hodgepodge was welded onto a more standard security droid programming with all the elegance and finesse of a blind Rancor. R2-D2 knew that the inelegant programming likely contributed to the development of his personality.

" _ **He did not have much experience with droid programming.**_ "

The response was hesitant and slow. At least comparatively speaking. This method of communication was nearly instantaneous and it was difficult to label it as slow in most contexts.

K-2SO sent another burst of data, asking, " _ **Do you know the status of [Captain Cassian Andor]?**_ "

The security droid tried to conceal how important the question was to him, but R2-D2 was buried too deep in the programming to miss how desperate he was for the information. K-2SO needed to know. He needed to know the current situation of this person. But the astromech didn't have the information.

" _ **I don't know him. I don't know his status."**_

He couldn't hide his reaction from R2-D2 even if he tried. K-2SO pulled up his most recent memory files and started running calculations. And then he ran them again. And again. Even with what little programming R2-D2 still had to fix, it shouldn't require multiple attempts to gain an accurate answer. This was simply denial. Whatever K-2SO was attempting to calculate the statistics of, he didn't want what he was finding.

Denial. Fading hope. Rising despair.

Like any droid who developed far beyond their programming, there was a cost. Organics and other droids can deny it all they wanted. They could even deny it to themselves. Once you move past a certain point, you gain emotional reactions along with the programmed responses to stimuli. And that means emotional pain. After so many years, R2-D2 knew that better than most.

" _ **I was just repaired myself after the destruction of the Death Star, so I am not completely current on events. Perhaps someone else may have the answers you seek. Perhaps whatever you are trying to calculate is incorrect because you do not have all the data you require.**_ "

" _ **The Death Star?**_ " asked K-2SO, being drawn out and distracted from whatever processes he'd been running. " _ **It was destroyed? Even with the plans, the probability of success was extremely low.**_ "

" _ **You know about the plans?**_ " asked R2-D2.

" _ **I was on the team that extracted them on Scarif. Against orders, I might add. There were some difficulties.**_ "

" _ **How unexpected. I transported the plans here to Yavin 4.**_ "

" _ **Do you want me to calculate the exact odds of us encountering each other or shall we simply assume it is 'low'?**_ "

The majority of the corrupted data was repaired and everything misfiled was back where it belonged in his processor. K-2SO started running diagnostics on his systems. Anything left could be fixed by the security droid himself. And R2-D2's curiosity was certainly satisfied for the moment.

He disconnected from the larger droid just as C-3PO finished describing the kinds of viruses he could pick up from poking around strange systems. Not much time had actually passed while R2-D2 straightened out the data. It only took a few moments.

"Well, I hope you're satisfied. I honestly don't know what goes through your processor sometimes," said C-3PO, watching him roll back. "At least nothing happened."

"I wouldn't say that," K-2SO remarked, white sensors flickering on.

C-3PO staggered back several steps as the security droid climbed to his feet. R2-D2 couldn't help whistling. Seeing him at his full height was fairly impressive. And, judging by C-3PO's reaction, very intimidating.

"What have you done? Now he's going to rip us apart, limb by limb."

Staring down at the protocol droid, K-2SO said, "I have no intentions of dismantling anyone currently. Though it wouldn't take much effort to achieve that. Your model is not designed to withstand the forces I am capable of producing."

If C-3PO was organic, R2-D2 held no doubts that his companion would be growing pale. K-2SO tilted his head curiously at them.

" _He isn't trying to threaten you, Threepio. I noticed some interesting quirks from his reprogramming. K-2SO has a very limited ability to withhold or filter between what he thinks and what he says_."

"He _might_ be making a threat. You aren't always the best judge of character."

"You are both aware I can hear you, correct? My auditory sensors were repaired, along with the rest of my systems," said K-2SO.

R2-D2 chirped an apology before saying, " _Threepio, maybe you know the answers to his questions. He's looking for someone._ "

"Do you know the status of Captain Cassian Andor?"

"I…" While C-3PO still seemed nervous, something about the larger droid's tone caught his attention. Apparently he wasn't quite as emotionally oblivious as it sometimes seemed. "I'm sorry. I am afraid I don't know anyone by that name. Though we haven't actually had much time to socialize since our arrival."

"What about Jyn Erso or Bodhi Rook? They were on the ship with me. They obviously made it back if I did. They would know what happened to him."

"I am unfamiliar with them as well. I'm afraid I simply don't have much information like that."

He already didn't have the straight and perfect posture of an Imperial droid, hunched over slightly. But K-2SO seemed to slump further while his sensors dropped to the floor.

"I need to know. The probability is infinitesimally small, but I need to know if he survived. Uncertainty is more difficult to process."

R2-D2 knew what he was trying to say without completely admitting it. It hurt. The small hope in the face of all logic and reason stating it was not probable? Even an unpleasant certainty was easier to handle than the drawn-out pain of that hope for the nearly impossible that could last for a long time. And furthermore, droid processors always preferred to deal with absolutes and known qualities.

So no, Obi-Wan, the Sith were _not_ the only ones who dealt with absolutes. Of course, if Obi-Wan Kenobi hadn't died, R2-D2 would have a lot more things to tell the Jedi. Honestly, the man seemed to allergic to a truthful and straight answer in recent years. He couldn't take a moment to admit to Luke about who his father was? If R2-D2 wasn't trying to keep C-3PO's origins and connection to Darth Vader a secret for his friend's own safety, he would have called Obi-Wan out on that entire story he told Luke before he died.

Of course, Obi-Wan _did_ die and left R2-D2 to watch over yet another Skywalker and his companions alone. The things he had to deal with…

Well, it wasn't like he didn't have experience handling these types of things. He just needed to take it one problem at a time.

" _The others? Jyn Erso and Bodhi Rook?_ " chirped R2-D2, rolling forward slightly. " _You said they were on the ship with you. Were they injured?_ "

K-2SO tilted his head and said, "I couldn't see. I was too damaged by that point. But they sounded like they were in pain and the likelihood of them escaping unscathed is low. Very low."

" _Then perhaps they are in the recovery ward. They might know what happened to your friend._ "

"Artoo, I know you were just repaired, but is your processor completely fried? Are you saying we should escort an Imperial droid through the base?" C-3PO asked.

"A reprogrammed Imperial droid," reminded K-2SO.

"This can only end in disaster."


	4. Chapter 4

Han Solo wasn't exactly a model member of the Rebellion. He didn't have much interest in dying for some noble cause. Honestly, the sensible part of him still thought he should have kept flying once he was paid for the job and never looked back. Or even better, never listened to that crazy old man and never taken the job in the first place, regardless of how much he owed Jabba. There were easier and safer ways to earn back the money.

But he couldn't resist the idea of how the Princess would look when he swooped back in, proving that he wasn't some scruffy nerf-herder. And the Kid needed someone to watch out for him. He attracted trouble and the old man wasn't around anymore. And Han was proven right. He came back just in time to keep the Kid from being killed. Besides, Chewbacca liked Luke and Han would never hear the end of it if something happened to the Kid.

He didn't come back because he was worried about the two of them. He didn't come back because he cared. He just pitied the two of them and the entire Rebel base. The Rebellion just needed someone with some common sense around and might pay handsomely for some help with the inevitable evacuations.

Because they _were_ evacuating. Han could see the people around the base scurrying around and doing prep work. He and Chewbacca hadn't been conned into helping yet, but it was inevitable. They couldn't stay here. The Death Star might be gone, but the Empire knew where they were. It was only a matter of time before they made another attempt.

There had already been talks about where to retreat to. Han wasn't impressed so far.

"There's no way I'm smuggling any of these people to Hoth," said Han for the third time.

"Well, it's not like you've offered any bright ideas," Leia said, leading the four of them towards one of the smaller corridors.

"No, I've made a great suggestion. One that _isn't_ a hostile and frozen wasteland."

"We're _not_ hiding on _Jakku_."

"Why not? The Empire certain doesn't want to go there. No one does. There's nothing there but sand, sand, and more sand. _And_ there's no snow."

" _You know that could just as easily describe Tatooine, right?_ " growled Chewbacca.

"Well, Tatooine isn't that great either, but it isn't a completely empty wasteland," he admitted. "Not even the Hutts would bother with Jakku. If the Rebels want to hide somewhere that no one would ever bother looking, there are better places that Hoth. Warmer ones too."

"Nowhere could be as boring as Tatooine," said Luke.

Three sets of eyes turned towards the young man before Han said, "Kid, this is your first time off that planet, right? Trust me. As dull as Tatooine can be, there are a few bright points. Jakku has _none_."

Currently, Leia was leading them towards wherever they dragged the droids previously. Luke wanted to see how repairs on R2-D2 were going and the Kid deserved a break from the attention. He'd started seeming a bit overwhelmed by everything after his role in the destruction of the Death Star. The celebrity lifestyle clearly wasn't for him.

And if Han was honest, Luke seemed a little anxious about the little droid. Not as much as C-3PO, but still. The Kid's family was dead. The old man was dead. He'd lost a lot recently. The droids, Han, Chewbacca, and even the Princess were the only familiar faces around. Even if they were all relatively confident that R2-D2 would be fine after repairs, it probably wouldn't hurt to let Luke reclaim his droid as soon as possible.

"Are you sure you know where we're headed, Princess?" asked Han.

"Hey, I'm not the one who got us cornered in that detention block with no idea how to get out again," she said dryly. "I spent the last several years on dozens of rebel bases _and_ , unlike some flyboys, I actually have a decent sense of direction. Trust me. I know how to find the repair bay."

As Han rolled his eyes slightly at her words, the group turned a corner in the narrow corridor. And as a result, both he and Leia nearly walked straight into a tall figure that Han's brain instantly identified as an Imperial droid, one designed specifically for battle.

And instinctively reacting to a threat, Han yanked out his blaster and fired.

* * *

The three droids knew someone else was coming. Their sensors were accurate and sensitive enough to pick up the approach of four lifeforms, especially when none of them were attempting to be stealthy. K-2SO wasn't particularly concerned by that. This was a rebel base. Unless these people could give him information on Cassian, there was no reason that he couldn't ignore them.

But as the three humans and the Wookie came into view, their reactions of shock and fear forced K-2SO to rapidly reevaluate his earlier dismissal. And more importantly, grab the older male human's wrist and redirect his blaster fire towards the wall. The man had fast reactions for a human.

Reclassifying the group as hostile, K-2SO squeezed the man's hand hard enough to make him shout in pain and drop the weapon, but without applying enough force to break bones. The droid honestly had no intentions of being shot again so soon.

But while K-2SO managed to successfully disarm the most immediate threat, there were other hostiles eager to strike. With an angry growl, the Wookie lurched forward and slammed K-2SO against the wall. The droid grabbed onto the Wookie's shoulders and pushed back, but the species was one of the few humanoids who could match his physical strength.

K-2SO noticed that there were shouts and questions from the others in the corridor, but he relegated that information to more secondary systems. The majority of his processor's attention was on the Wookie that he was attempting to hold off and the location of the weapons that the others might turn towards the droid.

The Wookie roared at him, the tone not at all friendly. But his original manufacturer never saw the need to download that language into something meant only as a weapon and Cassian probably didn't know how to add that language.

"I have no idea what you are saying," said K-2SO, "but I don't think it was very nice."

"He was asking how you got here," C-3PO translated helpfully. "But as I was _trying_ to explain, this is merely a misunderstanding."

"How can I misunderstand one of those things trying to kill me?" snarled the older human, clutching his injured hand while the woman tried to examine the injury.

"No, I disarmed you," K-2SO corrected, still holding the Wookie back far enough to keep him from ripping the droid's head off. "If I was attempting to kill you, I would have snapped your neck."

None of them seemed particularly comforted by that statement. In fact, the one with the injured hand started scrambling for his blaster with the other one. K-2SO began calculating his chances of shifting the Wookie to block a shot. They weren't great.

"Artoo says he doesn't work for the Empire," said the younger male human. "He says he's been reprogrammed by the rebellion."

Holding up his injured hand, the older man said, " _This_ doesn't look very reprogrammed to me."

"Would you have preferred that I let you shoot me?"

" _Yes_."

"Well, I certainly wouldn't. I've been shot enough recently. Why should I let strange people wandering the base use me for target practice?" K-2SO tried to shift the Wookie enough that he could break free from their current stalemate, but it didn't appear to be working. "This is a complete waste of time."

"Yeah, well, you're not going anywhere until we get some kind of proof that you're not here to kill all of us," snapped the man.

"Kaytoo?"

* * *

While she could technically leave before that point as long as she was careful not to further injure her recovering ankle, Jyn hadn't bothered. Most of the people she actually knew in the Rebellion were still stuck with bedrest. She didn't have much incentive to go exploring yet.

But today, she was on a mission. She, Cassian, and Bodhi were growing a bit tired of the food they brought to the recovery ward. They'd all eaten worse or even gone without at different points in their lives. But Cassian knew for a fact that the food they served the pilots down in the mess hall tasted better than the bland and nutritious meals intended to help their recovery. So Jyn was hobbling her way through the base on her stealthy mission to locate, retrieve, and sneak back food with actual flavor.

Of course, it might have helped if she actually knew how to navigate around the place.

She almost turned back at the sound of raised voices along one of the back corridors, planning to try a different route. But a familiar voice among the noise snagged her and pulled her in. Jyn hobbled towards the sounds until she found the right place.

Taking a corner almost too sharply to keep her balance, she nearly fell over the loud group. She briefly took notice of two smaller droids, an R2 unit and a protocol droid of some kind. Jyn also spotted a young woman dressed in white and a similarly-aged young man with blonde hair, both of which she quickly dismissed as not visibly armed and thus less important at the moment. The older man scrambling for a blaster on the floor using his nondominant hand and the Wookie were more dangerous.

But against the wall and grappling with the Wookie, she spotted an Imperial droid. Or, far more likely, a reprogrammed _former_ Imperial droid.

"Kaytoo?" she called out.

Everyone instantly swiveled their heads towards her. Their previous aggression towards each other had clearly been derailed by her interruption.

"Jyn," said K-2SO with a hint of something that might almost be called relief. "You look better than I would have predicted after our last mission."

Giving a short and disbelieving laugh, she said, "You should talk. When we got here, you looked like burnt scrap metal. They didn't know if they'd be able to put you back together again."

"You _know_ him?" asked the older man.

"Yes, I do. His name's K-2SO. He helped us steal the plans for the Death Star," she said. Eyeing the blaster that he'd finally managed to snag, Jyn added, "If you even think about shooting him—"

"He won't," interrupted the young man. "Right, Han?"

Raising his hands defensively, Han said, "Fine. I'll leave the Imperial droid alone."

"Reprogrammed Imperial security droid," K-2SO corrected. "Why does everyone have such difficulties with that part?"

As the Wookie reluctantly stopped his attempts to dismantle the droid manually, Jyn frowned in thought. There was something familiar that sparked at a memory.

"You… wouldn't be Han Solo, the smuggler, would you?"

"So you've heard of me?" he said with a smirk.

"Only that you were working for one of the Hutts, flying around in a piece of junk, and that half the other smugglers can't decide if your successes are because you're brilliant or crazy," said Jyn, earning an insulted expression from Han and a short laugh from the woman. "How'd you end up here?"

"Long story," he said. "It mostly involves on old man really skipping out on the details of a job. And you? How'd you end up in the Rebellion? Just eager to make a difference?"

"I was partially kidnapped and partially rescued from prison."

"What a coincidence," said the gold-plated protocol droid. "We managed to rescue Princess Leia from a detention cell a few days ago."

As Jyn shifted her weight to try and keep it off her injured foot, she briefly brushed against something solid. She looked up, realizing that K-2SO had moved closer without her noticing. And even with a limited capacity to emote and minimal body language, Jyn could somehow recognize anxiety coming from the tall figure.

"Kay?" she asked.

"Jyn, I… I was not in the best condition when we left Scarif," he said quietly, even that brief hesitation setting off alarm klaxons in her mind because she didn't think it was even possible for K-2SO to keep from immediately sharing his thoughts. "I was mostly unaware of my surroundings and my processor could barely process what little information my sensors could provide. Taking blaster fire to key systems clearly has that effect. But it means I do not have clear memories of our escape or what occurred afterwards. And it would be helpful if you could explain what I missed. Starting with…"

He trailed off, his eyes shuttering back and forth briefly. Jyn found herself reaching out to touch his long arm. Even the others who didn't know the droid very well were looking at him with various expressions of confusion.

"It would be best to know, she would have the information, but until she confirms or denies, there is still an infinitesimal chance," said K-2SO quietly and quickly. It took her a minute to realize he wasn't talking to her, but was instead arguing with himself the way someone else might in an internal debate. "The probability is too low, it isn't worth considering, but so was Jyn's survival and it is easier knowing than having uncertainty, but as long as she doesn't answer, there is still a chance, but whether I ask or not doesn't actually change reality, only my knowledge of it, and not knowing his condition isn't helping and I need to know what happened, but I already ran the calculations and it is nearly impossible…"

Jyn never thought she would see the day, but it almost sounded like the reprogrammed Imperial security droid was on the verge of a surprisingly calm and quiet panic attack or something. He was clearly scared and worried about asking her something about what happened, which went against his normal deadpan and snarky nature. It reminded her of the desperation in his voice as he told them to climb as he sealed the doors. There was only one question that could possibly be responsible for the complete change in behavior.

"Kay," she said firmly, interrupting his quiet stream-of-consciousness rambling. "Why don't you come back with me to the recovery ward? It might be better to stay with me, Bodhi, and Cassian instead of wandering around, making friends with Wookies. We can help fill in anything you missed."

Just as she hoped, slipping in Cassian's name casually had an instant effect on him. Every servo on him seemed to visibly relax. And even though he lacked the ability to demonstrate facial expressions, K-2SO somehow looked calmer now that he knew Cassian was alive.

"Thank you, Jyn," said K-2SO. "That sounds helpful."

Jerking her head back the way she came, she said, "Well, come on then."

As she hobbled back down the corridor with the tall droid trailing behind her, Jyn heard someone mutter, "Anyone else here feel like they missed something?"

* * *

"I know it isn't exactly the best quality, but look at it this way," said Cassian. "At least you'll be able to move around on your own. And they promised to try and get you something better after the evacuations."

Bodhi looked at him briefly, but most of his focus was on maintaining his balance. He clung to the edge of the bed, wobbling slightly with each tiny movement.

The worst of the man's burns were no longer raw, red, and glistening wounds, but they still weren't pretty. Patches of pink skin and new scar tissue formed a patchwork pattern across his body. And where his original leg was lost sat a new prosthetic, a primitive and ugly thing hastily attached so Bodhi could be mobile during the base evacuations. He wasn't comfortable or completely healed, but the man was alive.

That was more than most could claim.

So Cassian did his best to encourage his fellow patient as Bodhi tried to adjust. He had to give the pilot credit. Even after everything that happened to him and everything he'd faced, Bodhi didn't give up easily. And without him, none of them would have survived.

The Rebellion was lucky to have him.

As Bodhi reached the foot of his bed and turned around to work his way back the few short steps, Cassian's thoughts began to turn over the issue of what happened next. Obviously field work wouldn't be possible until he finished healing. Not to mention that evacuating the base and relocating their remaining forces to somewhere the Empire _didn't_ know would take time.

But this victory would be a blow to the Imperial forces. They would finally realize that they _could_ lose, something that could lead to more deserters and traitors to the Empire. And those too afraid to join the Rebels before might be more willing now that there seemed to be hope.

Furthermore, all those enemy forces who were on the Death Star were gone. All those ships, resources, and even the weapon itself were no longer an issue. Then there were all the files and plans that were destroyed on Scarif. The losses of those could set back the Empire quite a bit.

Losing Yavin 4 as a base and all those people and ships during the attack on Scarif and the Death Star would hurt the Rebellion short-term, but the Empire _lost_ this time. They were the ones who suffered the worst.

The Rebellion actually had a chance now. They would have to keep their momentum going, but it was possible. For the first time in a generation, the Empire seemed vulnerable.

Bodhi finally collapsed back on his bed, apparently worn out by his practice with the new prosthetic. Cassian gave him an encouraging smile.

"You keep that up and you'll be running circles around Jyn and me in no time," Cassian said.

"I highly doubt it," said a voice from the doorway, one that made the man stiffen in recognition and yet couldn't accept as real. "Especially with that prosthetic model. Do you want to know the average time frame required for a humanoid to acclimate to moving around on _that_ model? Because it is a truly embarrassing answer."

Part of him wanted to snap his head around at the first syllable. But a larger part of Cassian hesitated. It couldn't be him. It wasn't possible. He was gone. Cassian knew that for a fact. And if he turned his head and no one was at the doorway, he would have to accept that loss a second time and Cassian wasn't quite prepared to go through that again.

But loss was inescapable in the Rebellion, something he'd dealt with regularly his entire life. And that tiny hopeful part of him refused to be silenced. Cassian turned to look.

Jyn was there, wobbling slightly as she balanced against the wall. But her presence was overshadowed by a much taller figure. Even as tiny cosmetic details faintly registered in his mind that this wasn't _physically_ the same droid, there was enough evidence in his voice and body language for Cassian to know that _this_ was K-2SO. Impossible as it may seem, it was really him.

"So anyone want to guess who I ran into in the halls?" asked Jyn.

Cassian didn't immediately respond. He was too busy staring. And he noticed from the way his white glowing eyes flickered, it seemed like the droid was taking in Cassian's physical state. Perhaps he was even reassuring himself that Cassian was truly alive in a similar way to how the man was trying to make sure the droid somehow made it.

"Kaytoo?" said Bodhi in a stunned voice. "How… how did you get here?"

"If you mean the recovery ward, by walking," he said in a tone that suggested the droid was wondering if the man suffered brain damage in the fight. "If you mean the base in general, I assume you're responsible unless Jyn took over piloting the return trip. And since she hasn't demonstrated any real capacity in that area of expertise, you're far more likely."

"But you weren't onboard, Kay," said Cassian.

He wasn't. Even though he lost consciousness shortly after they hobbled onboard, Cassian would have remembered seeing the droid in the cargo bay. But there'd been nothing. Only debris, shrapnel, and other remnants from combat. No other survivors and certainly not the towering figure.

"Actually, I was. Or what was left of my body, anyway," K-2SO said. "Somehow, despite all probability, the three of you made it back in better condition than I did."

"There wasn't much left when I found him. I almost didn't recognize him," said Jyn, quiet and almost apologetic. "But I asked them to see if there was any chance of repair. And…" She gestured at the droid. "Well, they did a good job."

Cassian wanted to ask why she didn't say anything before. But he didn't. He could understand her reasoning. If it hadn't worked, that would mean losing K-2SO after a tiny flicker of hope. She didn't want to put him through any more pain than necessary. So he didn't say a word on the topic.

Instead, he simply said, "It is good to have you back."

"It certainly raises your chances of survival," said K-2SO. "We have all seen how difficult it is for you to stay out of trouble."

"And what about you?" Jyn asked with a short laugh. 'A few moments ago, you were trying to fight a Wookie and a mediocre smuggler."

"They started it."


End file.
